The 137th Date
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Matthew counts the dates he takes Irina out on; each one is special, unique. He's learned her family's quirks, seen who she really is, and loves it all.


Author's note: In case you didn't know that I kind of really shipped CanUkr, I kind of really ship CanUkr. I also like to think Russia and Canada get along quite well, on top of my Slavic siblings feels. Also writing this gave me DIY CanUkr dreams, just so you all know; thus there will be a DIY CanUkr follow up to this, so heads up there. And maybe more, I do enjoy them.

* * *

**The 137th Date**

As with the first 136 dates they've had, Matthew arrives right on time at the big house just outside Kiev. And just as with the first 136 dates they've had, Ivan had come down from Moscow to make sure he was the one opening the door.

"привіт," Matthew says with the best accent he can, still too heavy on the pry- and too awkward on the -vit. Ivan only shakes his head and sighs, smiling slightly and standing aside for the shorter man to enter.

"Be right down!" Irina shouts from up the stairs.

"Take your time Irunya, it's fine," Matthew yells up, following his girlfriend's brother into the kitchen.

"Drink?" Ivan offers, sitting with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. He seemed to have been having tea and a snack when the Canadian had arrived.

"Should I need one?" Matthew asks cautiously but when the Russian laughs he smiles; it was definitely becoming much easier to be around big, scary Ivan Braginski. Matthew could even call him Vanya, though he only ever did so in private or with Irina.

"One for the road, between men." Ivan pours them each a drink and they clink glasses.

"Будьмо?" Matthew asks, a little unsure.

Ivan's immediate reply of "Hey!" calms him and with that it's bottoms up. "One more?"

The Canadian thinks it over, scrunching his nose and still feeling the burning sensation all down his throat. "I'm going to regret this: Дa, one more."

"One more." They clink, this time Ivan offering the cheer, before downing the next shot.

"Are you two drinking already?" Irina's voice calls out as she takes the stairs down quickly, walking back towards the kitchen.

"Oh wow," Matthew sighs, taking the Ukrainian in. Irina has been for as long as he can remember conscious about her body, but in a dark gray dress with black accents, black shoes, and her hair pushed back and away from her face she is absolutely radiant. "You look amazing," the Canadian says, standing to kiss his girlfriend lightly, still wary that her brother was watching.

"Oh hush," she blushes before taking the vodka bottle from Ivan's hand, pouring another shot into Matthew's glass, and downing it with ease. "Ready?"

"Ready," and Matthew shakes Ivan's hand as their tradition has become. "I'll bring her back safe and sound," he assures the Russian just as he has every time he's left with the Ukrainian before.

"You better," comes the hollow and often-repeated empty threat. Matthew swears he hears laughter as they exit the house.

* * *

As unorthodox as Matthew has always found it, Irina is the one who takes charge at dinner, ordering everything once they're settled in. Her boyfriend watches in amazement before taking her hand. "You really do look stunning tonight Irunya."

"You always say that Motya," the woman chides.

"Well I always mean it." Irina blushes. "How have you been?" and from the way he emphasizes the you the Ukrainian understands what he's really asking.

"It hasn't been quite so bad lately," she admits, leaning in across the table. Unconsciously Matthew leans in too, not wanting anyone around to hear his beautiful love's pain. "I've been through some really awful times Motya; anything happening now I can more than handle."

Fingers stroke her hand, their other hands linking as they lace their fingers together. "I wish I could help more. I wish I could be here more."

"You already do help," Irina sighs, "more than anyone else. You've even impressed Vanya, and he's admitted to that in public."

"Really?"

"Так." Yes.

"Does that mean I'm a keeper?" Matthew teases, blushing at his own words.

"Oh yes, you are definitely a keeper."

* * *

Over their main course, tucked away in a corner of the restaurant, Matthew comments, "You look different. Up here." He gestures to his chest.

"Hmm? How so?" Irina had once told him that what had made her say yes to his request for a date had been that he always looked at her face, never at her breasts like others did. When the Canadian had blushed profusely she'd only laughed, saying it was a good thing because it made her feel normal. Like a real woman.

"Dunno. Just… different. Maybe it's your necklace," Matthew muses aloud.

"Oh." As if suddenly remembering something Irina puts her cutlery down, her boyfriend doing the same instinctively. "I wanted to tell you something."

"What Irunya?"

"I feel really weird about this, ok?" She looks around the room to make sure no one is near them before confessing, "I had to get new bras. My size changed."

"Cup or band size?" Some days having Francis for a stand-in father had its perks.

"Both," Irina replies seriously, calming at the non-reaction from her boyfriend. "You know how I am about this." Matthew shrugs.

"It's not like you're in control of that. I've got hair that does whatever it wants," he points out, pulling at one particular curl he knows is always bouncing about. "Quirks of ours lives, that's all."

"I did feel really guilty about it," Irina mutters, pushing around food on her plate. "Like maybe it was me. My band got smaller though."

"There you go," the Canadian tries to soothe. "You got smaller, they probably just stayed the same is all, so they seem bigger."

"True," the Ukrainian nation agrees, musing that over. "Very true."

Matthew's grin is lopsided as he says in that rare suave voice he sometimes finds the strength to use, "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Irina Chernenko." Irina's blush covers both cheeks completely.

* * *

Once they've arrived back home, Matthew half-carrying Irina on his back because her feet hurt from all the walking to and from town, they find the house empty and Ivan's car gone. "He must have left while we were out," the older sister mutters.

"Maybe he's finally come to trust me?" Matthew says with great hope that is immediately shot down.

"Doubt it." Irina pushes open the front door, Matthew locking up behind them. "He left a note in the kitchen," his girlfriend calls out.

"What's it say?"

"That'd he rather not be here when we get back. That he doesn't want to hear anything."

Their eyes meeting as the Canadian enters the kitchen, both nations blush. "Well."

"Well."

Despite the coloring they both smile mischievously.

* * *

The way Irina shoves him hard against the mattress, pulling his tie from around his neck and shifting her dress so she can straddle his lap, all turn Matthew on to no end. It's that take-charge attitude she gets about herself when they're alone, when they both feel confident enough to let their real selves show through, that he really loves about her.

The woman's kisses are everywhere as she unbuttons and pushes about his shirt and then undershirt, her fingers playing with the band of his pants and undoing his belt buckle as his hands find the zipper down the back of her dress. Matthew pulls it down with ease before unclasping her bra, making Irina laugh against his mouth as he grabs her hips, grinding up into her.

"Love you so fucking much," he groans.

"I love you too Motya," and Irina follows her words up with the unzipping of his pants.

* * *

He collapses on her chest, legs still around his body as his head settles in between his girlfriend's undeniably impressive breasts. "It's been too long," Irina murmurs.

"These last few months have been crazy."

"I keep meaning to start working on the house," the Ukrainian admits as Matthew finally shifts, pulling out and laying down beside her. Their heads beside each other on the pillows, he steals a quick kiss. "I love this house."

"I know you do."

"It's not even the best house I've ever had," Irina continues, "but it's the one I'm second-fondest of."

"Second-fondest?" Matthew asks and his girlfriend smiles that all-female smile she has.

"First was the house I raised Vanya and Nata in. That house was a home."

"What do you intend to do with this one now?" The Canadian pulls her close as he speaks, feeling sleep begin to come over him.

"I don't know really Motya. I was thinking of starting with some of the downstairs room, they need paint and maybe some work that I can ask Vanya to help with because I'm not good at that sort of thing. From there I'll have to see."

"If you want," and his lips kiss her smooth shoulder, "I can help. Alfred and I helped Francis redo his country house: drywall, plumbing, electricity, the lot." Matthew strokes his girlfriend's cheek. "We could make this house a home Irunya."

Her hand lays atop his. "Yes we could Motya. Yes we could."

* * *

Ever since he was little Matthew has always awoken at least once in the middle of the night. Francis used to say it was because he spent so much time alone, that that instinct of always being alert in the Canadian wilderness would never leave him. Even when he would lay in his father's arms Matthew would wake, studying the lines of the French nation's face.

Irina looks divine in his arms, moonlight from a half-closed window sneaking into the room and across their bodies. There's a peace to her he knows she hasn't always had, but Matthew hopes and prays that peace will last forever for his Ukrainian. He doesn't want her to suffer ever again because for date number 150, he plans to propose.


End file.
